


The Stag and the Quiver

by SummerAtLast



Category: The Yogscast
Genre: Alien Biology, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-16
Updated: 2014-10-16
Packaged: 2018-02-21 09:04:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,367
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2462531
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SummerAtLast/pseuds/SummerAtLast
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Strife finds a wild animal in the Twilight Forest and lets it go. So does Kirin.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Stag and the Quiver

**Author's Note:**

> I'd like to thank Lucy for the apples, DCDF for the porn, and Jay and Meaghan for the betaing.  
> [Seriously, check out DCDF's art. A picture is worth 17,000 words.](http://desirecomes-desirefades.tumblr.com/post/98503617241/warning-glowy-aliens-and-people-with-horns-and)
> 
> [OH MY GOD DCDF DID ANOTHER ONE.](http://desirecomes-desirefades.tumblr.com/post/100180957496/you-should-read-the-stag-and-the-quiver) Holy shit, I am... well I'm not speechless, but it's mostly stunned profanity. Thank you so much. It's magnificent.
> 
> Update: [now with apple scene podfic by Meaghan!](http://azumoney.tumblr.com/post/101894874789/a-reading-of-an-excerpt-from-the-stag-and-the) Marvel at their lovely voice, and resign yourself to never eating apples in front of your parents ever again.

The deer in the Twilight Forest were fast and skittish, usually just thin-legged shapes vanishing into the gloom. Strife never expected to get so close to one, but he surprised it in a corner of the hedge maze. It was a large animal, but surprisingly delicate, and it panted out mist as it watched him.

Strife extended a hand. “Easy, boy.” He didn’t have any apples left for it. He didn’t even know if deer liked apples. He held out his empty hand, palm up, hoping it would be enough.

The deer trembled. Its eyes were dark and liquid, and it shifted uneasily away from him. It couldn't go far, and tossed its head when its antlers brushed the hedge.

He pitched his voice low and soothing, kept his movements slow and gentle, inching closer.

He'd never been so close to one. He swallowed hard, trying to memorize the empty tree branch shape of its antlers, the legs as delicate as flying buttresses, the gleam of its coat.

“I'm not going to hurt you, I'm a friend.”

All he wanted to do was touch it, just once. Just once. He barely breathed. Any movement could spook it. He watched the deer eye him uncertainly, watched its velvety nostrils flare as it took in his scent. Its crown of antlers shifted, and it looked past him.

Strife wanted it to move closer. It shifted its weight, hooves clicking on the maze brick, white showing around its eyes. He eased forward, a tremble in his open palm, his movements so slow they were on the razor edge of stillness.

“Come on, boy,” he coaxed. “It's okay.”

Strife didn't think of himself as a person interested in magic in any meaning of the word, but he wished, quietly where nobody could hear him, that the deer would be friendly. It was just an animal, but somehow this meant something.

It shivered. He was so close to it. He could almost touch its trembling coat. Touch a wild Twilight deer, alive and warm.

But it wasn't right. Not like this. Not backing a terrified animal up against a wall. He wanted it to reach for him, but it shrank away from his open palm.

The deer watched him, eyes large and dark and fathomless.

He would never have this opportunity again.

He closed his fingers on emptiness, drew his hand back.

“It's okay. I'm not going to hurt you.” His voice was soft, though his throat hurt.

Just step back and let it go. Just one step back and let it do what it wants. He was no stranger to sacrifice, but this hurt like tearing a fish hook out of his heart. The deer would probably never come near him again. This was his only chance. He knew that. And yet, he hoped it would understand his kindness, hoped it would know that he meant no harm and could be trusted.

“It's okay,” he breathed, stepping back. “You're free. See, there's the way out.”

The deer shivered, pressed against the hedge, eyeing him and the widening gap he left. He eased back, his footsteps almost silent.

The deer bolted.

Strife sighed as he watched it disappear into the swirling mist.

He couldn't have hoped for more. He shouldn't have. This was the way things were. This may have been a shadowy magical forest, but he was still himself, and this was what his life was like.

He watched the empty Twilight quietly, not even hearing hoofbeats anymore, then turned to continue onwards.

He flinched, hissing in a breath, and almost lunged behind the hedge before he realized it was too late.

Kirin stood there watching him, face unreadable.

He should have heard him coming. Strife kicked himself mentally. His heart hammered, his ampullae burning bright. He rubbed a rough hand across the back of his neck, covering the ampullae, but the glowing freckles scattered across his face still gave him away.

This was the demigod's terrain, he should have known he’d show up sooner or later. How did he find out? It was only one rabbit. Just a tiny rabbit, and it was a new gun, and he couldn’t help taking a shot, just to try it. It was over in a moment, it probably didn’t feel a thing.

Kirin's voice was light and friendly. “Hello, my friend. Are you lost?”

“No,” said Strife. “I was just leaving.”

“I understand,” said Kirin. “Which way is your portal? I’ll see you off.”

Strife coughed. “I was. Uh. I was looking for one, actually. The, uh, flowers broke.” So ridiculous, interdimensional transport that depended on _flowers._ He itched to find a way to get here sensibly, a smooth sturdy teleportation platform, maybe some reinforced glass walls.

Kirin raised an eyebrow. “That does seem like a problem. What do you intend to do about it?”

“I have diamonds,” said Strife defensively. “Just… find some more flowers, dig them up.”

Kirin nodded, smiling.

“Carefully,” Strife added. He didn’t mention the bundled flowers hidden in the storage compartment of his jetpack. He had dug them up rather than leave the rest of them to get trampled while he was out looking.

He wasn’t worried about the odds of finding a portal. He hadn’t been looking for one for that long, and there was bound to be another working portal within range, or at least some more wildflowers. He’d be able to sense the tingling energy of a portal from some distance. He wasn’t worried.

Kirin wasn’t closing in, just standing there, so Strife eased forward, careful not to get too close. The prickles of energy coming off Kirin were. Uncomfortable. Strife was careful not to rub a hand across his ampullae to chase the sensation away. He held his breath, squeezing past the corner of the hedge, and Kirin took a step back to let him pass. Strife felt better immediately in the open air. He tested his jetpack, flickering its wings open and shut. Less than half a tank of fuel left.

He’d burned up a lot of it, flying low and slow, looking for those _weeds_. The Twilight Forest had far too many glowing things that caught the eye, so he had to be thorough to make sure he didn’t miss any.

“That’s a very nice jetpack,” said Kirin.

“Ha, this old thing?” Strife flicked the wings open. “It’s nothing much. Business is good.”

“Wow, look at it.” Kirin’s voice was warm with flattery, and Strife preened. Kirin was shoveling it on and Strife knew the score, but it still felt good. “Looks complicated.”

Strife shrugged. “It’s really not. Early model mekatronic. Upgrading the chassis to have some decent armor was the hardest part.” Kirin’s eyes ran over the straps of the harness. “It’s a very simple design, only one control circuit.”

“Elegant,” said Kirin. “Is that an alloy?”

“Good eye,” said Strife, stepping closer. “Tin and steel. Not many people know their metals.”

Kirin slid a finger along the delicate metal rib of the jetpack wing. “I know a little.”

Strife was about to spin to explain the upgrades he had made to the control panel on the back, then realized he shouldn’t turn his back on Kirin. His shoulders went up. Sneaky, getting under his guard so fast like that.

He coughed, putting some distance between them. “But that’s, uh. That’s not important. Do you - can’t you fly?”

“Oh, yes,” said Kirin lightly. “I can do a lot of things.”

Naturally. High and mighty storm sage, and had to let people know about it. He was reminding Strife, none too gently, that he was powerful, magical, and on his own turf, to boot. It shouldn’t have been a surprise, but it still stung to hear his jetpack so casually dismissed. Just when they’d been getting along.

Strife’s jaw hardened. He could walk away. He could _fly_ away. But if the jetpack ran out of fuel, he’d never live it down. Besides, it was in his best interest to keep the storm sage in his sights, so he could notice if Kirin was targeting him with anything. He _would_ notice. Because of course Kirin wasn’t just going to leave him _alone_ , not with a flimsy excuse like picking flowers. He’d be watching him - either in plain sight, or covertly, if Strife walked away from him. That’s what Strife would do.

Kirin smiled, shifting his weight, and took a step towards thicker woods. He looked over his shoulder at Strife. Strife could - he could wait until Kirin got under the dense canopy, then take off? It was a big forest, and that could work to his advantage. But Kirin knew the forest better than he did, and the flowers were more likely to grow there, in the taller grass that barely brushed the tops of Kirin’s boots.

And he was very low on jet fuel.

He took a hesitant step after Kirin, then lifted his chin and moved forward with confidence, hurrying to close the gap so he wasn’t tagging along behind him. He had to take three steps to Kirin’s leisurely two. Strife didn’t even come up to Kirin’s shoulder; the lifts in his shoes didn’t do much to correct the difference, even without counting the antlers into Kirin’s height.

“So, uh. I guess this direction is as good as - are you going somewhere?”

“Yes,” said Kirin. “You can join me if you like.”

“We’ll, uh. We’ll see about - we’ll cross that bridge when we get to it. Just keep an eye out for flowers.” That wasn’t a favor, right? It wasn’t. Kirin was practically sightseeing, strolling slowly. Not using that lightning speed, or even the unfair advantage of his long legs.

Strife shivered as the canopy closed in, blotting out the stars. Something fast and bright swooped at him, and he had the gun in his hand before he realized it was just one of those annoying little birds. Kirin stretched out a hand, and the bird landed on a finger. He looked it over, but didn’t pet it or anything, and it flew away after a moment.

Strife laughed nervously. “Guess my reflexes are too fast for my own good.”

“I guess they are,” said Kirin softly.

Oh no. Oh _no_ , he knew about the rabbit. Oh god, he was in for it now.

“That’s a very impressive gun,” said Kirin.

“It’s loaded,” said Strife stiffly. “You’d better not try anything.” He knew, he _had_ to know.

“Now, why would I do something like that?” Kirin smiled, and it was a terrible smile full of secrets.

“No reason,” blurted Strife. He shoved the gun back in its holster. “I mean, I don’t know. I don’t know why you magic types do. Uh. The things you do.”

“Why, because we _want_ to do them, my friend. Isn’t that why everyone does things?”

Strife’s mouth felt dry. The air in the Twilight Forest was crisp, and _green_ in a way that bothered him. He was breathing heavier than he should have been as he kept pace with Kirin. The jetpack was a very efficient mode of transport, and the mobility it gave him was indispensable, but it was so heavy to carry around on foot. Even with almost empty tanks. He hitched a thumb under the strap, easing the pressure on his shoulder.

“Is it warm in there? That armor looks kind of warm,” said Kirin.

Oh god, he had noticed the sweat. Strife was overheating from the exertion, even with the red visor flicked up into the helmet so he could look for red flowers. “Yeah, of course, it’s uh. It’s good armor.” He aimed for nonchalant. “Very thick.”

“It’s impressive,” said Kirin.

Strife _knew_ he wasn’t impressed. But it was still nice to hear, even from someone who was using magic so he didn’t have to wear anything more than silky robes. Maybe he could still respect the workmanship involved. Good honest workmanship.

“So fearsome,” said Kirin, his eyes running across Strife from his flushed face to where the mekatronic armor didn’t cover his bare forearms.

So _fearsome_? Strife struggled to keep a straight face. “Well, I. I better be,” he said. “It’s my colors.” Branding was very important, and Strife presented himself in sleek black and rich red. Kirin’s robes could be called twilight blue, he supposed, but really, the Twilight Forest was more of a faded rainbow color scheme, and Kirin didn’t fit particularly well. Not with those electric blue eyes.

“They suit you,” said Kirin. “They’re lovely colors, especially against the green.”

Strife’s face burned greener at the compliment, and he looked away. Flowers, there should be _flowers_ nearby. Kirin followed his gaze.

“Oh, you’re right, I hadn’t even noticed.” Kirin moved towards him, and Strife stiffened, stepping out of the way quickly so Kirin couldn’t pin him against the tree. Kirin reached up and captured a firefly from the trunk. It was large, almost the size of a bird, and Kirin let it crawl across his fingertips, turning his hand to watch it.

“See, almost the same color.” He brought it close to Strife’s face to compare the light, and the back of his hand brushed Strife’s cheek. To his horror, his freckles blazed in response. Responding to the light, of course, it really was almost the same shade, it must have been a sympathetic reaction. There was no reason an accidental brush of skin would set him off like that. It wasn’t - it hadn’t been _that_ long. Maybe Kirin couldn’t see it, with the firefly so bright.

“Similar chemicals, probably,” said Strife briskly. “And you’d better not try to taglock me. I know all about that stuff.” He brought his hand up, pushing Kirin’s hand away. Knowledge was power, and Strife knew better.

“If you’re so worried about that, my friend, there are solutions available,” Kirin offered.

Strife laughed at him. “The old insurance scam? Hatcorp’s already tried it, and I sent them packing. You’re gonna have to come up with something a little better than that tired old trick.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” said Kirin unconvincingly.

“You,” Strife said with a grin, “are trying to sell me a _solution_ . And I’m the solutions _man_.”

“I know,” said Kirin, smiling back. “You have quite the reputation.”

“Word of mouth is the best advertising,” said Strife. “Believe the hype.”

Kirin shrugged philosophically. “Can’t blame me for trying, can you?”

“Leave it to the experts,” said Strife.

Kirin let the firefly walk off his fingers and onto the tip of Strife’s jetpack wing. Strife let it stay, looking at it until it flicked its wings and flew away. He watched it go.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” said Kirin. Strife turned his head, meeting his eyes.

“Sure, I guess,” said Strife. “It’s a, uh, nice forest you got here.” It wasn’t really. It was too big, too magical, and too hostile to strip-mine. He’d had to be very cautious about mining so far, and it irked him to leave behind an exposed vein of prometheum deep in minotaur territory. He had it marked on his map for later, along with what he was _sure_ was an orichalcum deposit.

The Twilight Forest was just _wasted_ on its inhabitants. He itched to set up a quarry between the trees, maybe knock a few down and set up some decent stadium lighting around the equipment. And if the locals didn’t like that, well, he didn’t like them either, so that was fair. Even the fireflies were just subliminally annoying, now that he noticed. The breeze did feel great on his heated face though, he’d give it that. Very refreshing.

Kirin was walking too close to him, and Strife eased away a subtle half step, edging around a patch of tall grass. He didn’t want him getting ideas about how friendly they were, not without a binding treaty of mutual nonaggression. But if Kirin wanted to act friendly to lull him into complacency, two could play at that game. Strife knew how to make polite and professional smalltalk.

“You could really do something with it,” he said. “It has definite potential.” That, at least, was true.

“It’s always hard to watch opportunities go to waste,” said Kirin, his voice warm. “What did you have in mind?”

Strife could see it already. “Well, with this forest, you could build something on the scale of a _cathedral_. You’d have to, for it to clear the canopy. You could even use the lumber for the frame of it, I mean wow, it’s the height of ship masts. Higher. You could make flying buttresses out of it.” He gestured at the somber hush of the forest, planting supporting columns in the darkness.

“Twilight oaks,” said Kirin.

“Yeah, those. You could still use the rainbow trees for landscaping, of course. Lots of stained glass to match, though you’d have to set up lighting behind them for the full effect. I mean, the towers around here, you’ve seen them. Blocky, and haphazard, not an ounce of symmetry in them. It’s a crying shame, when you could go for _grandeur_.”

He clenched his fists as if he could just crush those eyesores to rubble. Really, what was brutalist architecture doing in a _magic forest?_ “Maybe use some of that maze brick to pave the gardens outside.” He wondered if that was what Kirin’s house looked like. It should.

“You’d have to import the glass, of course.” Especially if a smeltery would ruin the unworldly atmosphere of magic. His mouth twisted. All delicate chalk circles and symbolism, no decent infrastructure or ergodynamics. Nilesy and Lomadia had to _hop the fence_ between their altar and summoning circle, for crying out loud. He’d probably have to go with cantilevered stairs around the towers instead of teleporters, unless there was some sort of magic thing Kirin wanted to install. He’d leave the ceilings high enough for flight, of course. No chandeliers.

He wondered how much Kirin would let him build here. Wait, no, he wondered how much Kirin would _pay_ him to build here. It would have to be a sizeable budget, you couldn’t cheap out on something like this, not if you wanted it to be _grand_. The scale of the entry hall alone - Strife bit his lip, imagining the sweeping staircases, the balconies.

“That sounds fascinating,” said Kirin. “I love architecture.”

Strife shot a narrow glance at him, but if Kirin was making a joke, he wasn’t laughing at it. His eyes were warm, his shoulders relaxed, and his body language was open, turned to watch Strife as they walked. Kirin met Strife’s eyes, and if he saw the blueprints shining in them, he wasn’t visibly offended.

But Strife knew he’d slipped up, even if Kirin didn’t let it show. He should have sold him on the product before just handing him the designs for free and showing Kirin how eager he was to deal. Let alone telling Kirin how much of the forest he planned to landscape. Strife knew that people got territorial, liked keeping things the way they were. They took it so _personally_ when Strife rearranged things, helped himself to things that were just going to waste. It was a vast and lush forest, and yet Kirin counted every last tree as his own.

Every last _rabbit_.

But really, how did you measure the cost of a rabbit against the march of progress?

“It’s great,” said Strife, taking a step back to keep Kirin at a professional distance. His neck was starting to ache from looking up. “Architecture. It’s - I mean, business is one thing, but presentation is _everything_.”

“And you do it so well.” His voice was low, intimate, and not professional at all. Strife caught himself leaning in and took another half step away.

Strife turned his head to look for flowers, stifling the urge to bite his lip. “Well, thank you. It’s, uh. Good that you’re picking up on it. You have an eye for quality. Workmanship. Let me know if you’re in the market for, uh. A base or something.”

“Oh, I’m _definitely_ interested. Tell me more about what you had in mind. Do you always work with such dark materials?”

“What, like Nether brick? I wouldn’t pair that with Twilight oak. I mean, sure it’s durable, but I wouldn’t use it in the _entry_ hall. Maybe you could tile the workshop with it, that probably needs to stand up to a little wear and tear. Maybe obsidian, it’s classier.”

“Oh, I generally apply warding enchantments to everything. So anything is fine. I simply ward things so they’re not subject to destruction.”

“What, the _walls_? In the building materials or on the - nevermind. You can enhance it however you like, but it needs to be sturdy to start with. Can’t build on soft foundations. And if the lighting’s a problem, don’t sweat it, there are plenty of options.”

Strife ran him through the pros and cons of various building supplies, steering him away from skystone. The conversation was far more engaging than he had expected, and the thrill of an audience outweighed the growing irritation of his boots blistering him. Kirin was _more_ than polite, he was paying attention to everything Strife said. He understood the importance of functional space, and asked intelligent questions about door placement. The doors would have to be much larger than usual, to accommodate the antlers. And, well, the _rest_ of him. There was a lot of him. Strife eyed him discreetly, trying to calculate his proportions.

Strife even made him laugh with his rant about stone bricks - really, the stuff was a _menace_ , could clutter up even the cleanest lines. He used Parv’s stolen, poorly laid out cluster of square rooms that Parv had the _audacity_ to call a castle as an illustration of how not to do, well, pretty much everything. Kirin nodded in sympathy.

This was so much easier than talking about business and power. No jockeying for advantage, no hidden meanings, just _art_. Something ached in his chest and throat, and he swallowed, trying to push it down. Kirin didn’t notice; he was still wheedling for a skystone walkway to the gazebo. Strife was willing to compromise on stepping stones, but not if it delayed construction.

Kirin watched his hands describing the circulatory system of pipes laced through the building. His eyes were soft, as if he could already see the beauty of the blueprints Strife sketched in the air for him. Strife didn’t ask him about that, though. He wasn’t sure if that was something everyone could see. Kirin might just be happy at the idea of a professional quality base with well-designed wiring, happy to get an expert opinion. For a reasonable fee. He’d bill him for his time later.

Kirin touched the curve of the jetpack wing lightly, asking about flying buttresses. Strife felt it like a music note shivering down the metal into him. He let it ring through him for a long dizzy moment before shrugging it away. He hitched up the jetpack, trying to shake the unbalanced feeling, and took a deep breath.

He wasn’t used to. To connecting with someone on an equal level, when it came to architecture. The witches were _nice_ , but Lomadia would never let him _do_ anything, and he had had to argue hard for the merits of automatic sprinklers. And Nilesy was. Well. He was trying to build a coke oven on top of the rabbit hutch. Enough said. And even Parv barely seemed to notice all the time Strife had spent chiseling out those wretched bricks and replacing them. He still wasn’t sure if Parv had noticed the sunflowers.

He wasn’t used to this. Not used to Kirin’s rich rumble of a laugh when Strife made a joke, not used to the easy give and take of the conversation. To being watched like he was - was _fascinating_ . It was disconcerting. Of course, Strife had faith in the quality of his designs, in his expertise. But he had never had such an effortless sell. And it couldn’t have been a snow job, not when Kirin was saying things that were _true_ . Well, _some_ of the compliments were true. The ones about flying buttresses, definitely.

Maybe he could work out some sort of deal for prometheum mining rights in exchange. But then again, it wasn’t like demigods ever felt the need to ask for permission for things like that in the overworld. Strife chided himself - he was a modern man of business and science, not some backwards superstitious loser. It was a safe bet that Kirin couldn’t even _mine_ the stuff himself. Magic forest or not, digital miners were still incredibly efficient. He’d like to see Kirin go up against one with an enchanted pickaxe. No contest. And even if setting up a quarry was a no go because of the precious _trees_ , Strife still had options.

He eyed the trees. The forest could stand to lose a few. Out with the old, in with the new, open up some space for new things. Trees fell all the time, and weren’t often replaced by something worthwhile, just more trees. The underbrush could really use - it rustled and his heart skipped a beat. But it wasn’t an ent, thank god. Just a spider, with rose-red eyes that gave Strife a start. He dismissed the irrational queasiness.

Kirin was between him and the spider. Strife considered offering to shoot it. But it was probably better not to remind Kirin about the gun. He had been careful about not paying attention to the wildlife so far, and he didn’t want to bring it up if Kirin didn’t - not the rabbit, and not the deer Kirin had almost caught him - god, how _embarrassing_.

But maybe he could… he didn’t have any syringes on him at the moment, but surely they’d be useful for his genome sequencing project? Kirin couldn’t object to that. He wouldn’t hurt them, taking samples wasn’t even as harmful as taglocking. He’d leave them better than he found them, even. He could bring food for bribes. He didn’t ask Kirin what deer wanted. He had plenty of resources, he could find out on his own. And _someone_ needed to do some basic research before just letting the things _flood_ into the overworld ecosystem. Lomadia and Nilesy even had a breeding pair of those ravens already, and who knew what would come of them letting the rainbow trees cross-pollinate and get into the honey supply. Some people just had no concept of risk.

The trees were getting heavier and larger, and the everpresent gloom even thicker. Kirin really should plant more glowing things to minimize the amount of monsters that could hide in the darkness. This was no way to run a forest, just letting things grow uncontrolled. It was like letting weeds pop up on the business park lawn. Not good for business.

He didn’t worry too much about the density of the forest. There was still plenty of room between the trees to fly, especially with the maneuverability of the jetpack. Granted, a broomstick would probably ram right into the trees, but then again the broomsticks seemed prone to ramming into a _lot_ of things. Strife had firmly suppressed the urge to try them out, and had never seen anything that made him regret his decision. He really wished the witches would swallow their pride and buy jetpacks from him. He’d cut them a very reasonable deal.

The conversation had lapsed into a silence that wasn’t as awkward as it could have been, and Strife saved his breath for walking. Their footsteps were loud in the hush of the forest - the acoustics were surprisingly good in the still air. He’d have to find a way to preserve that in his designs, it was one of the few good features of the Twilight Forest. And in the quiet, he could feel the tickle of a portal, _finally_ , shivering down his over-alert ampullae. He subtly shifted course to take him more directly towards it, and Kirin didn’t seem to notice, keeping pace by his side.

Strife shoved his way through the underbrush, steps quickening, pointed towards the portal like a compass needle. He brushed past a purple bush and into a sea of softly glowing ferns that sighed and rustled as he forged a path through them. Not far now, he could feel it. He looked down, startled, as something brushed his hand, then took a closer look. The tips of the fronds were frozen in the act of uncoiling, and the leaves were translucent, trembling in the breeze. They swayed and parted as Strife moved through them. His face heated up, and to his horror, he felt a stir of interest. He looked away immediately, focusing on the trees ahead as the ferns slid around his thighs. God, those things were _obscene_ , just, just growing wild like that, in lush clusters. And Kirin was - Strife tore his eyes away from the soft leaves sliding through Kirin’s fingers.

And, because Strife’s life was just completely unfair, Kirin noticed.

“Are you alright? You look like you’re overheating.”

“There’s coolant enough,” said Strife, aiming for casual and missing by an octave. “Don’t worry about me.”

It was feather light, but he could feel the pressure of Kirin’s palm on the control panel of the jetpack, checking the temperature. It was cool, it _had_ to be, the jetpack wasn’t even on. Strife’s freckles broke out in a feverish glow.

“You’ve thought of everything, haven’t you?”

Strife swallowed hard. “Can’t leave too many unknown factors.” It came out breathier than he had hoped.

“I think you’ll be fine.” Kirin traced the ridges on his shoulder plate idly. “You’ve got nothing to worry about. This is lovely armor.” He must have forgotten to move away, because Kirin’s voice was very close to his ear. “Mind if I take a closer look?” His hand was sliding down Strife’s shoulder, down his arm, almost to where the exoskeleton stopped.

Strife jerked himself out of Kirin’s hands before he could get a solid grip, before he could push any of the buttons on the back of the jetpack. “Nice try. You think you can just _ask_ me to take off my personal protection? In the _Twilight Forest?_ I’m not - I’m wise to that.”

The _nerve_ of him, thinking that William Strife, CEO of Strife Solutions, was just a pushover. Coming at him with these - these _transparent_ manipulations. Strife wasn’t born yesterday. He saw the catch. Kirin may have been willing to work with him, but he was a born politician, always interested in additional leverage. He was nice because he _wanted_ something. Wanted a _taglock_ . Wanted to put the screws to Strife until he confessed about the _rabbit_.

Kirin sighed and backed off, and Strife’s smile was hard with triumph. He had seen right through it, and Kirin had retreated rather than show his hand so early. The walk continued in silence.

They came to the lip of a Twilight portal. It shimmered purple, the flickering light playing over the flowers clustered around its edge. Strife could feel its energy buzz over his ampullae, a constant annoying tickle. He shifted, but there was no way to scratch himself through the armor.

“Don’t worry, it’s a safe one,” said Kirin, looking down into the glow. “It’s the one in the witches’ garden.”

“Which witch?” Oh god that sounded… “I meant, uh, which. Um. Which one of the. Whose garden, in particular?” Nevermind, just keep going, ignore that. Confidence was the key to making other people not notice your mistakes.

Kirin smiled. “Lomadia and Nilesy.”

Strife remembered seeing one outside their fence, purple light shining through the grass. Terrible cramped layout, but the planning in the witches’ house in general was what Strife would call haphazard on a charitable day. Lomadia had barricaded it to keep Nilesy from falling in by accident. She had said anyone, but she meant Nilesy.

Strife’s lips thinned. “It’s blocked on the other end.” Of course. Kirin was _kind_ enough to lead him to a portal, and make sure he couldn’t get through it. Did he expect to catch him off guard while he was trying to get through? It wouldn’t work.

Kirin looked surprised at Strife’s sharp tone. “It shouldn’t be. Hold on, let me check.”

He stepped into the pool of light and was gone in a surge of sparks. Strife stared hard. It did look like a normal portal transfer, but you couldn’t be sure with magic.

He hadn’t realized how near he was to the lip, and stumbled back in shock when Kirin reappeared in the ring of flowers, standing far too close to him.

“No, it works. See?” Kirin held out a leaf in his palm. Strife assumed it was a particular kind of leaf, but he really couldn’t tell. It was green, at least, so he knew it wasn’t from one of the rainbow trees overhead.

“Looks good,” agreed Strife. He cast a glance at the portal. Could Kirin have blocked it right before coming back?

Kirin twirled the leaf between his fingers, watching it spin, then pocketed it. He was in no hurry to leave.

Strife shuffled nervously, then made himself stop, waiting for the hammer to fall.

“You're just letting me go?” It was an accusation, not a plea.

“Did you have something else in mind?” Was this just normal smugness, or did he know he had something on Strife?

Strife sighed. He was going to find out sooner or later, and he’d rather bite the bullet now, instead of having to deal with a vengeful demigod at an inconvenient moment down the line.

“Look, I don't want you holding this over my head later or anything. I shot a rabbit, okay?”

“I'm aware.” Kirin’s voice was mild.

“And?” This wasn’t how he expected this to go. He was expecting… more lightning.

“And what?”

“Do I... owe you something for it? Is that how this works?” He winced. He was basically asking Kirin to name his price. Terrible business strategy, especially considering how much interest Kirin had shown in his armor.

Kirin broke into a smile, looking Strife up and down. So there _was_ money involved, he knew it. Twilight Forest demigod or not, everyone had a price.

“How much is a rabbit worth?” Strife set his jaw, ready to bargain Kirin down to something reasonable. It hadn’t been a very big rabbit.

Kirin shook his head, still amused. “You have no idea, William.”

“Ballpark it. I have diamonds.” Strife wasn't going to get caught out in the Twilight Forest without diamonds. But he hadn’t anticipated the scarcity of the _flowers._ Those things were _weeds_ , all over the place when you were trying to landscape, never there when you needed a fast exit from a shadowy magical realm.

“You think I need diamonds?”

“I don't know what you _need_ ,” snapped Strife, “I'm just trying to pay for the rabbit.” Really, expecting him to just _guess_ the consumer demographics of the Twilight Forest was entirely unfair.

“And how much _do_ you think a rabbit is worth?”

“I dunno. One? No? If you don’t want diamonds, I have…” Strife thought fast. “Chickens.” That was an appropriate animal, wasn’t it? About the same size. Useful. Bred fast.

Kirin didn’t react to his offer.

“Horses, then. Genetically modified, they grow a lot of wool, it’s really very efficient.” His voice warmed as he sold the product. He was really proud of those. He could just leave, and then mail Kirin a horse. Pick of the stables, even, he was feeling generous.

“Are they wild?” asked Kirin, his voice soft.

“What?”

“Do they eat from your hand?” Kirin was watching him very closely, and Strife’s stomach clenched. This was obviously important, and he didn’t know why. He felt like he was missing something, like this was a joke and he was the butt of it again. A crow cawed somewhere overhead, sounding like laughter. Strife flushed angrily, heat breaking out over his skin in a hectic glow.

“I, no. I have feeding troughs for that. No.” He took a deep breath to calm down, disperse the sudden surge of anger. “Wait, are you saying that was your pet rabbit?” He hoped not. God, he felt sick at the thought, it was just running around the forest, it looked like any of a million other rabbits, he had no way of -

“Of course not,” said Kirin. “It was wild.”

Strife’s shoulders slumped in relief, and he tried to disguise it by standing straighter, lifting his chin.

“Alright then, what's the catch? Can it not be something I already own? Do you want me to... to capture a sheep or something for you?”

“You don’t _own_ animals, William. No one does,” said Kirin with a gentle smile. It was very patronizing, and Strife disagreed heartily but kept his face neutral, his freckles sullenly glowing.

“You can keep them,” said the storm sage. “You can capture them, tie them up. Put them in a pen.”

Strife’s armor felt tight against his throat as he swallowed. So that was the game. Well, Kirin wouldn’t find it easy to trap him here, not with his jetpack and -

“But in the end, the only way to keep an animal is to make it want to come back to you,” continued Kirin, as if he hadn’t noticed Strife shifting into position. “You have to win its trust. Have you ever done that?”

Strife squirmed, wondering how much of the deer thing Kirin had seen. Probably not much. The storm sage moved so fast, he could have flickered into place behind him as Strife was watching the deer run off, that’s why he hadn’t heard him coming. But then he had to have seen him letting the deer go, right? That had to count for something against that rabbit.

Kirin’s eyes were luminous in the twilight, and Strife found them very hard to read. His hands were still open, though, relaxed at his sides. “It’s not an easy task to get close to one, William. You have to understand that wild animals are scared. They’re not used to being handled. They don’t know anything outside the dynamics of predator and prey.”

“It’s a dog eat dog world,” agreed Strife.

“But does it have to be? There are guardians in the world who oversee things. Keep them healthy, happy. Protected.”

He had _definitely_ made a mistake with that rabbit. Horned in on Kirin’s territory, made him lose face by killing something under his protection. He wished Kirin would just name his blood money and move on. Strife needed at least one - no, two, just in case - two diamonds to guarantee his way out, but everything else was negotiable. He hoped Kirin didn’t want the armor; that would be very hard to part with.

“And, uh, it’s great that you’re so responsible,” said Strife. “So, you don’t want anything for the rabbit?”

Kirin sighed. “No. That’s not what I want.” He frowned slightly, a line appearing between his eyebrows. Strife tensed. “I’m not here to punish you, William, and I’m not here to buy or sell anything. You’re a guest here in the Twilight Forest.”

“And what are the rules regarding guests in the Twilight Forest?” Strife countered. He bared his teeth in what probably looked like a smile. Here it came, here was the catch, he was smart enough to see it coming and he wasn’t going to agree to be a guest until he knew what Kirin thought he’d owe him for it.

“Hospitality,” said Kirin, spreading his palms open. “Safe passage. Food. Ah, that reminds me, I’ve been terribly remiss in my duty as a host. You’ve been here a long time and haven’t had anything to eat.”

An icicle of fear formed in Strife’s stomach. How long had he been watching, if he knew Strife had finished his last golden apple? Or was he bluffing, just guessing that Strife would be the type to arrive short on rations and be too wary of the raw meef to consider eating it? Neither option was good. He knew far too much. Strife searched his face, trying to guess what he was aiming at.

But Kirin wasn’t even looking at him anymore, he was looking up into the canopy. Strife moved out from under it, wary of ents. Kirin’s hand disappeared into the leaves. He had such an unfair height advantage, effortlessly reaching where Strife would have had to fly. There was a soft snap and the leaves shook, and his hand returned holding an apple.

Strife hadn’t even known they grew here. It couldn’t be mistaken for a normal apple, the skin glossy and dark as wine. Kirin held it to his mouth, closing his eyes. Strife’s lips moved. Kirin inhaled, a long, savoring breath.

“There’s really nothing like it.” He held it out to Strife. Strife leaned forward carefully, taking a sniff. It smelled like apple and something more, something honey-sweet that he couldn’t quite identify. He took a deeper breath, his lips parting, but the apple drew away.

Kirin contemplated the apple in his hand. “Look, it’s safe, I assure you. I won’t - here, I’ll take the first bite.” He sank his teeth into it, biting off a mouthful of apple. He crunched it and swallowed. “See, guest and host. No harm done.”

He held it out to Strife. God, it smelled good, the skin broken and the crisp white flesh glistening with juice.

“Take a bite,” suggested Kirin.

Strife hesitated. But it would not be a good idea to refuse this olive branch. Kirin still had time to change his mind about the rabbit before Strife could make it through the portal. He could just take a bite and they’d be square. Strife tried to take the apple, but Kirin’s hand tightened around it. Strife checked Kirin’s face to make sure the peace offering was still on, and Kirin nodded.

“Go ahead.”

So this was normal for him. Must be a Twilight Forest rule. Kirin wasn’t laughing at him, he’d _better_ not be. Strife hated the idea of memorizing a book of ridiculous magic rules, but maybe he should, just so he wasn’t taken by surprise. Maybe the witches had one he could borrow. Rent.

He pulled Kirin’s wrist down, fitting his mouth to the apple, not where Kirin’s lips had been. It hadn’t looked so large in Kirin’s hand, but he had to stretch his mouth awkwardly over it to take a bite. Strife bit down, breaking the skin, and juice flowed. He tried to close his lips against the apple, but it was too late, the juice dripped down and over Kirin’s hand. Strife pulled off a wedge of apple and took a step back to chew it.

“‘s really good,” he mumbled, pushing a huge chunk of apple into his cheek. The apple tasted even better than it had smelled, stinging his tongue with its tart sweetness. He had taken a large bite, and it took far too long to chew as Kirin watched. He slurped in some apple juice before it dribbled out of his mouth.

Strife swallowed hard. It was the best apple he’d ever had, and he’d had a _lot_ of golden apples. Really, they were a very efficient food source, kept him from interrupting his work too often to stop and eat. Kirin took another bite, sharp teeth sinking into the apple, and held it out again, turning it to offer Strife an unmarked section.

Strife cupped both hands around Kirin’s and stretched his mouth wide over the apple. Kirin’s hand was large and solid, and he didn’t shift his fingers away as Strife breathed out. Strife’s lower lip brushed skin. He took too large of a bite and couldn’t close his teeth enough to tear it off, but refused to relinquish it, tugging with his mouth and pushing against Kirin’s wrist with his hands.

The apple chunk came free with a crunch and Strife pulled back again to chew it, breathing hard through his nose. He brought a hand up to cover his mouth, shoving the apple in as he shifted it with his tongue. He swallowed again and again, feeling it move down his throat. He hadn’t realized he was hungry until the hollow ache in his stomach went away.

The apple was gone before Strife knew it, and Kirin tossed the core away, casually licking the juice off his fingers. He didn’t do a good job catching it all, and the juice ran down the line of his wrist. It was probably getting his robes sticky.

Kirin followed Strife’s eyes and laughed. “Oops. Oh, don’t worry, that’ll wash out.” He pulled off his robes, casually folding them over his arm, and inspected his wet shirt sleeve. Strife was shocked to see him take off his armor so easily - and silky or not, those ornate robes were definitely armor. He was wearing a white shirt, his shoulders broad under it.

Kirin clucked his tongue over the mess. “Sorry, it was very ripe. Do you have any on you? Oh yes you do, right here. Let me get that.”

Strife didn’t move as Kirin brushed a thumb over the corner of his mouth. His mouth felt sticky from the apple juice. He licked his lips when Kirin took his thumb away, chasing the taste of the apple, then turned his face away, embarrassed. That wasn’t professional.

But maybe that didn’t matter. Maybe the rules were different in the Twilight Forest.

He looked at the shimmering portal, and it suddenly seemed far less appealing. The witches would probably raise their eyebrows at him using it without their permission. At him not having a better backup plan, and having to rely on someone else. At showing up at their house uninvited. The possibility of them finding out he needed Kirin’s help to even _find_ the portal was enough to make him cringe.

And really, he was getting too close to the witches, spending far too much time with them. He had just been there yesterday. Better to space out the visits. Strife knew people got tired of him if they saw him too often. Gotta keep them wanting more. And he couldn’t show up empty-handed, either.

Maybe there was another portal further on.

“I can take it from here,” said Strife. “I’ll be fine.” He stepped away from the portal.

Kirin’s eyes were fixed on him, and Strife knew an unsatisfied customer when he saw one. Kirin clearly wasn’t done here. Had he misread the truce? Did he owe Kirin for the apple too? Maybe he shouldn’t have eaten so much of it. He had definitely had more than half of it. Those things might be rare. One apple a century, or some ridiculous magic thing like that. That was no way to run a tree. Strife licked his lips. There could be a real market for them.

Kirin just stood there looking at him and Strife’s skin prickled. His eyes were so blue, really, nothing in the Twilight Forest was that color, and Strife couldn’t look away. Kirin’s lips almost opened to say something. Strife swallowed, tasting apple. Kirin shut his eyes, and Strife could suddenly look away and take in a breath.

“You can leave, William. The way is clear.”

Strife flushed with embarrassment. He had overstayed his welcome again, and imposed on a host who didn’t want anything he had to offer. Kirin didn’t want him here. He had a whole huge forest to tend to, not just an uninvited guest. Strife knew what that was like. He should get back to Strife Solutions. The work was piling up.

“I appreciate your understanding,” said Strife carefully. He might have been let off with a warning this time, but he’d make sure to leave the wildlife alone in the future.

Kirin laughed out loud. “I’m not sure you do.”

Strife bristled. He didn’t get the joke. Kirin sobered, looking at his face.

Kirin looked up into the canopy, maybe searching for another apple. That seemed to be how he ended arguments. Strife stepped forward, head tilted up to help him look. They couldn’t be that hard to find. He scanned the leaves intently, and almost missed Kirin’s hand coming up to cup his jaw.

“ _Do_ you understand?” Kirin’s voice was soft and didn’t hold a trace of mockery.

He brushed a thumb across Strife’s cheek. Strife swallowed heavily.

Kirin slid his thumb across Strife’s lips. They parted. Kirin’s skin tasted like apple juice and something more, something wild and sweet. Strife pushed his tongue against it to get more.

Kirin gasped.

Strife stifled a flinch as Kirin moved in, looming over him, antlers like the bars of a cage. Oh god, he was touching the armor, a hand on Strife’s shoulder, right on the jetpack strap. Strife’s hand twitched up to protect the holster. What was he _thinking?_ Kirin’s other hand tilted Strife’s head up, exposed his throat. Strife stiffened, felt Kirin’s warm breath on his lips.

Kirin stepped back, dropping his hands, and Strife didn’t know whether to cry in relief or hit him or pull him back in.

Kirin knelt in front of him, putting his hands on Strife’s hips. They were feather-light and so warm. It felt like he had been punched in the stomach. He couldn’t breathe from the shock of it. He trembled, putting a hand on Kirin’s broad shoulder, and leaned down. The antlers were in the way, and he pushed against them. Kirin moved easily under his hand, and that should have been a warning, but Strife was too wrapped up in the thrill of it. Kirin let Strife put a hand on his jaw, and opened his mouth as Strife kissed him.

Strife was absolutely aware that it was a sham, aware that Kirin was large and powerful and completely uncontrollable, but something twisted inside his gut and he pushed harder, fierce on Kirin’s gentleness. His breath was ragged, the nodes in his lips lit up at the wet touch of skin, and his freckles must be _blazing_. His ampullae were painfully sensitive already, alert for the slightest touch.

Kirin’s thumbs moved, stroking his waist, and Strife could feel the prickle of static through the heavy mesh of his armor. God, he could _feel_ it through armor that could take a hit from a wither skeleton, and he was enough of a fool to want to take the armor off. Strife broke away, gasping for breath. Kirin held perfectly still, face tilted up towards him. He had a good poker face. Strife pushed Kirin away with a hard grip on his shoulder, putting him at arm’s length, and Kirin sat back on his heels as smoothly as if it was his idea in the first place, keeping his hands in sight.

Strife watched him, hands shaking as he flicked the catches on his armor. He knew this was a bad idea, knew he was showing Kirin the weak spots in his design, how to get in. He dropped the jetpack carefully, wary of its volatile chemicals and easily bruised flowers. The gun and holster both came off, and he checked the safety before nudging it under the jetpack. There was a bad moment as he pulled the chestplate off and it passed over his eyes, blinding him. He stumbled back, chest seizing with fear. But Kirin hadn’t moved. He was still there, watching him. Strife held the chestplate with white knuckles, feeling stupid. He swallowed hard, dropped it on the ground, and moved back in.

He took a grip on the antlers, and Kirin rose up on his knees to meet him again. Strife bit his lip, watching him intently, but Kirin’s face betrayed nothing. God, he was _big_. Even on his knees, his antlers still rose above Strife’s head. Strife moved towards him, then flinched. He hovered his hand above Kirin’s shoulder, then drew back. He was too rough when he touched Kirin again, fist knotting in his shirt, mouth crashing against his, breath shuddering. Kirin ran a palm lightly down Strife’s flank and he jolted like he’d been struck by lightning.

They stayed like that for a while, mouths locked together, Strife shivering as Kirin gently touched him. Strife’s breath and heartbeat gradually slowed down, but the restless jitters didn’t. He wanted to - he wanted. Wanted. He was so close he could hear Kirin blink, could almost feel the delicate brush of his eyelashes. He could touch him, if he wanted to. He could touch him however he wanted, and Kirin would let him, and that was a thought so appealing it frightened him.

Strife took a short breath and pushed Kirin away with a hand at the base of his throat, thumb right on a pressure point, and Kirin moved willingly, lips parting from Strife’s. He eased back on his heels, but Strife moved in, still pushing him. Kirin sprawled back on the grass, and Strife knew he could have avoided the fall, knew Kirin could have turned his momentum against him, but Strife moved in anyway, falling onto him.

He braced himself on Kirin as he leaned forwards, keeping some distance between their chests, and kissed Kirin again, hand at the base of his throat, hand in Kirin’s hair. Kirin was broad, and Strife’s knees barely brushed the grass on either side of him. He squeezed with his knees, trying to push himself up, get leverage, and slid on the fabric of Kirin’s shirt. Strife swayed, trying to brace himself against the shifting solidity of Kirin’s ribcage. His arm shook with strain as he tried to keep from pressing flush against Kirin. His toes pushed against the grass, and his legs burned.

Kirin groaned, bringing his hands up, and cold fear surged through Strife. Kirin was flat on his back, but he had the advantage of height, weight, and experience - he could hold Strife down without an ounce of magic, just lock his arms around his back, his neck. He could twist Strife under him and pin him in a second. Strife was a fool, and he was going to pay for it.

Kirin’s hands moved lightly over Strife, never behind his back, just stroking his sides, the tight muscles of his thighs. Strife let out a sharp breath; his eyes felt hot with the surge of relief. Kirin stroked his cheek, cupped a palm over his shoulder and slid it down his aching arm, petting him. Strife’s throat tightened. His fingers curled in the hollow of Kirin’s throat.

Kirin placed just one palm on his hip, no leverage, brushing his fingers over the gap between Strife’s waistcoat and pants. His other hand slid between them, plucking at Strife’s belt, and Strife let him, biting his lip in warning. The belt hissed as it slipped around his waist, and Kirin gathered it in his hand, then threw it a safe distance away, out of reach. Strife relaxed, running his tongue over Kirin’s lower lip. He felt the tugging at his waistband and the sudden looseness as it gave way, losing structural support as the zipper slid down.

Goosebumps broke out over Strife’s skin, and his freckles glowed brighter. Kirin’s hands were pulling his shirt tails out of his pants in tiny motions, so small he must just be using his fingertips to pluck at the cloth. It slid free, and Kirin brushed it up Strife’s waist, touching his bare skin under it. Strife shifted over him, pushing against the grass with his toes, breathing hard, and Kirin followed him as he moved, palm stroking under his shirt, fingertips brushing the ampullae on Strife’s spine, and it was too much, too close. Strife stiffened, his lips feeling numb.

Kirin stilled and pulled his hand back. Strife sat up. He felt cold, the breeze against his ribs invasive and unfamiliar. His skin prickled with the ghost of Kirin’s touch. Kirin was so warm under him, a carefully banked fire with more heat than flame. Even his electricity had a warm fizzle to it. Strife was sure now that the electricity came from his skin, not from an item or enchantment on him.

He slid his knees further apart, easing the strain in his thighs, gingerly lowering himself to sit on Kirin. He watched Kirin’s face, his deceptively half-closed eyes and swollen lips. Kirin’s stomach was warm, firm, moving under him as he breathed. Strife’s weight was nothing to him. Strife squeezed his knees around Kirin’s ribs, and Kirin chuckled. Strife could feel the sound vibrate through him.

Strife leaned in again and Kirin lifted his head to meet him. Strife could feel the muscles tense in Kirin’s stomach as he held up the heavy weight of his horns and antlers, a line of strain from his hips to his neck. This was good. He’d be able to feel it if Kirin started anything, feel the tension, the hitch of breath, the start of movement in his core. Kirin’s mouth was soft, pressing a kiss against the corner of Strife’s lips, against his jaw, and Strife was tilting his head up to give him access before he realized what he was doing. He took a handful of Kirin’s hair, bringing his mouth back where he wanted it before this got out of hand. Strife tightened his grip, and Kirin shivered. Strife rocked his hips, slowly, barely anything, but once he started he couldn’t stop.

Strife touched Kirin’s antlers, the thick spiral of his horns, the skin around the base of them. This was the Twilight Forest, he reminded himself. Don’t forget that. It was dangerous. _He_ was dangerous. But here Strife was, the color of the fireflies around them, grinding against Kirin’s stomach like he belonged there. And Kirin wasn’t stopping him.

Kirin’s hands returned, drifting across his stomach, pulling the buttons of his waistcoat out of the buttonholes. It was so light, but Strife could feel it the way a spider felt the slightest shiver on its web. The waistcoat loosened, and Strife should have been able to breathe better but he just _couldn’t_ as Kirin touched his stomach so gently with the backs of his fingers. Strife’s muscles locked up until Kirin took his hand away, and he gasped in a ragged breath. His clothes were so loose on him, and he noticed the friction as they moved, as _he_ moved, riding Kirin, his heavy silk tie swinging forward to fall against Kirin’s chest. Strife’s leaves fluttered, drawing away from his sheath one by one, and he bit his lip at the shiver of cloth against his wet cilia, working his hips harder against Kirin.

The buttons of his shirt eased open, one after the other, and Strife made a choked noise, pushing his hands under Kirin’s and fumbling his own buttons open, losing one to haste and shoddy workmanship. He ripped his tie off before Kirin could touch it, and threw it safely out of reach. It might have gone through the portal. That was fine.

He leaned forward, tilting his hips, and braced a hand on Kirin’s chest, right over his heart. There was a heartbeat right where it should be, hammering under Strife’s fingers. Or maybe that was Strife’s own pulse racing. Kirin eased the folds of Strife’s shirt open, sliding his hands in, and Strife felt like they were sliding right into him. And this _was_ into him, under his armor, under a suit that was a huge part of who he was. There was more than his ribcage exposed under Kirin’s hands, something soft and unprotected without the shell of his professionalism, and Strife felt shaken to the core. Kirin was cracking him open, squeezing him like a nut until he splintered, all without an ounce of pressure. His hands were so gentle, so warm as they traced over his ribs, feeling his heartbeat shudder through them.

He couldn’t stand this, couldn’t stand Kirin under his skin. He pulled away from his hands, sitting up, and took his shirt off defiantly. Now there was nothing Kirin had that anyone couldn’t have. Exposed to the entire Twilight Forest, his skin glowed like a beacon, betraying him to anyone who cared to look. Strife’s breath was faster than it should have been, and he trembled from the electricity thrumming through him, the constant prickle of the portal and Kirin.

“Beautiful,” said Kirin softly, Strife’s light shining against his skin. He brushed a hand against Strife’s waist, following a line of glowing freckles upwards.

Strife’s face twisted. “Liar,” he said, slapping Kirin’s hand away. “Just, just stop.” His voice was unsteady, and he swallowed, trying to move the lump of apple stuck in his throat. “I know what you’re trying to do to me. It’s not working.”

Kirin half smiled. “You caught me,” he said, his voice light.

Strife nodded fiercely, his lips pressed tight. He started tugging at Kirin’s shirt, tangling his fingers in the laces, but the laces ended halfway down, and the shirt wouldn’t rip under his hands. He snarled at it, straining, and Kirin’s hands closed around his, holding them gently.

Strife could probably have pulled away. It was a loose grip, and Kirin wasn’t trying to force his hands anywhere. He wasn’t talking either, his breath moving deep and steady under Strife. Strife bit his lip, staring hard at a firefly. He wished he could look Kirin in the face, read what he was thinking, but he just couldn’t _stand_ to right now, his eyes stinging as if he had been staring at the sun. The firefly’s glow flickered and faded, flickered and faded.

“I can take care of the shirt,” said Kirin slowly. “Let me sit up.”

Strife nodded, still looking away. The firefly blurred, and he refused to blink. He felt Kirin moving under him, core muscles tensing, pushing himself off the ground, and Strife rocked back as Kirin curled to sit up, closing around him like the jaws of a trap. Strife lost his balance, put a hand against Kirin’s shoulder, and felt Kirin’s legs against his back, Kirin’s warmth so close against his front that he could have kissed him. He didn’t. The firefly flew away, vanishing into the darkness.

He felt Kirin’s breath in his hair, and didn’t move. Arms were between them, brushing against his stomach and legs as Kirin worked the fabric free. Fabric slid between his legs as Kirin loosened the shirt and leaned back to pull it over his head. Strife watched the shirt sliding off, the bare skin appearing under its hem, the play of muscles under Kirin’s skin. The movement was slow and luxurious, so perfectly calculated that it seemed natural.

The shirt fell to the side with a whisper and Kirin eased back, bracing himself on his elbows. Strife looked at his bare chest, at all the skin Kirin was showing him, naked skin with no armor on it at all.

“It’s okay,” said Kirin, “You can touch me.”

His ribs rose and fell, and the pulse beat in his throat where the skin was thin and delicate. Strife touched it, felt it flutter under his fingertips. Kirin didn’t move away.

He could do anything he wanted. Strife ghosted his fingers over Kirin’s collarbone, up the line of tendons in his throat that Strife would never have let Kirin touch. You could do so much damage there. Kirin swallowed, and Strife could feel his adam’s apple move. His skin was rougher than Strife had expected, prickly with stubble. But then again he’d expected him to be iron hard and cold in the first place. Kirin closed his eyes, tipping his head back, and Strife felt like a rope had been cut.

He moved his hands across Kirin’s body, bolder now without being watched. Ran his fingers through the curls on his chest with a flicker of static, and Kirin didn’t say a word. He touched a nipple with a fingertip, and Kirin shivered. Strife took his hand away, waiting for him to open his eyes, to say something. He didn’t. Strife touched him again. The nipple tightened, and he traced the puckered skin, squeezed it carefully between his fingers. Kirin made a soft noise, and Strife looked up, heart pounding guiltily.

He touched Kirin’s ribs. He could probably learn something here. Learn if he had the same amount as a human. Or something. But anatomy wasn’t his strong point; genetics was. Kirin’s ribs rose and fell under his touch.

The patch of curly fur continued down his chest in a stripe. It was darker than the curls on his head. Strife didn’t know if that was normal; he’d never really felt free to look. He traced it downwards, coarse and springy against his fingers. It disappeared under Strife. He’d have to move to see more, to see how it ended. Kirin’s skin was lit up by the light pouring off Strife.

Strife wrapped his arms around his chest, rubbing a hand up and down his shoulder. It was cold, and Kirin’s hands were loose and relaxed at his sides. He leaned back against the warmth of Kirin’s legs, shivering as his ampullae brushed them. He shifted his hips, shifted them again. Kirin breathed faster, but didn’t respond.

Strife opened his mouth to say something, then bit his lip. He huffed out a breath, and put a firm hand on Kirin’s shoulder, pulling. Kirin opened his eyes, raising his head to look at Strife. The look in his eyes made Strife’s chest tighten. Strife set his jaw, pulling again until Kirin shifted his weight and raised a hand towards Strife’s face. Strife seized his wrist, guiding it to his waist. It rested there, warm and heavy, and Kirin watched Strife’s face, waiting for a cue when Strife had already given him one.

“Come on, you _have_ to know,” said Strife, his voice hoarse. “Don’t play dumb. Get with the program.”

Kirin smiled, and Strife searched his eyes for mockery. He couldn’t find any, but Kirin was a very good liar.

“And if I don’t know? Will you tell me?”

Strife tried to find an answer to that, but couldn’t think of one, couldn’t betray himself like that when Kirin already knew so much. He closed his lips.

“I understand,” said Kirin gently.

He understood too much, and Strife knew that he’d given him so much that Kirin could use against him, practically handed Kirin his armor and told him how to disassemble it and turn it into a sword.

Strife frowned, leaning forward to press a hard kiss against Kirin’s mouth. He braced a hand on Kirin’s shoulder to keep himself from falling onto him. He’d show him, take charge of this. He took Kirin by the jaw, pushed into his mouth, driving a hard bargain. Kirin agreed to his terms, opening for him. Strife stretched out across Kirin like a conquering army, effortlessly ravaging his mouth, confident of victory. He rolled his hips, felt something hard pressing against his ass, and pushed back into it. Kirin hummed, running his hand down Strife’s waist, over the curve of his hip, and back up.

It was deceptively easy, deceptively slow and soft, and then the muscles under Strife tightened. Kirin squeezed his waist and let go, pushing himself up off the ground, and lowering his legs until he was sitting up with Strife in his lap.

Strife moved up on his knees again, climbing up onto Kirin’s thighs, enjoying the height advantage, the way Kirin had to tilt his head up and strain to reach Strife’s lips. This must be how Kirin felt all the time, this giddy rush of power, of leverage.

His pants slipped down just an inch as he moved, and he remembered they were unzipped. Kirin clearly remembered too, as his hands were on Strife’s hips, just easing the pants down so slowly Strife barely registered the friction of the cloth.

“No. Take off _your_ pants.” Strife’s voice was firm. He was in control here.

Kirin let go, hands brushing down Strife’s thighs as he brought them down to himself, and Strife pulled away to look down between them, to watch as the fabric slid away.

So he had a dick, then. He was at least that human. Strife didn’t know what he had been expecting. Maybe something that glowed the color of his eyes. Strife was embarrassingly aware of the light spilling out of his own pants, and hoped Kirin couldn’t hear the quiet wet noises as things in there stirred, as the leaves slid and the fronds feathered open, as the cilia sucked at the cloth.

Strife was reluctant to back off far enough to let Kirin work, and Kirin made slow progress, hands brushing against Strife and hips shifting. Strife finally took a grip on Kirin’s shoulders, lifting himself up enough to let Kirin work himself out of his pants. Kirin bucked and twisted underneath him, kicking out of his shoes and easing his pants down his legs. Strife had noticed they were fairly form fitting when Kirin took his robes off, so it wasn’t an easy task, especially with Strife on top of him, _especially_ with Strife’s mouth on his neck, nipping red marks into the skin. Strife grinned as Kirin made frustrated noises and kicked, trapped by his own clothes. Kirin wrestled free and lay back down with a huff of breath, meeting his eyes with a rueful smile.

Strife was kneeling over him and still had his pants on, but for some reason he felt more exposed than Kirin. He looked over the stretch of Kirin’s body, raised a hand to touch his hip, then pulled it back. He put a hand in the middle of Kirin’s chest, right on the fur, and rested his weight on it as he climbed up Kirin’s body, looming over him. Kirin’s eyes were half closed, his muscles relaxed, chest rising and falling like a gentle tide. Strife’s pants slipped down just a little as he moved, and Kirin didn’t seem to mind Strife’s knees digging into him as he tried to find the right angle again.

Kirin was so warm Strife’s palm felt like it was glowing, and he could feel the wave of heat and electricity coming off him. It felt _amazing_ between his legs. Strife took a deep breath, shoving against Kirin, and felt Kirin’s stomach muscles ripple in a soundless laugh. Kirin’s hands came up, framing Strife’s hips, and they were touching skin now, not cloth. They slid over the curve of Strife’s ass and he felt the fabric slip down, just a little. Strife dug his fingers into the fur, his mouth falling open, rocking harder. His legs burned, and his freckles and ampullae surged with light.

He could feel his fronds uncoiling, loose and sloppy, searching for the warmth of Kirin’s skin. He bit his lip. He should stop, he really should, just a little longer wouldn’t hurt. Kirin palmed his ass, squeezing gently, and Strife rocked into his hands and didn’t make a noise, he _didn’t_ , he bit it off before it got out. Kirin was breathing to Strife’s rhythm, shifting under him, moving his hips. The fronds tickled as they slid backwards, so close to -

Strife threw himself forward onto Kirin. The alien shock of full body contact was almost enough to make him scramble away, but he crowded into Kirin’s space, landing an aggressive kiss. Kirin’s hands ghosted over the base of Strife’s spine and Strife squirmed as he touched an ampulla, biting Kirin’s lip until his fingers moved away. Strife pulled away to admire his work. Kirin might be a demigod, but his mouth was wet and swollen, his color high, and he was starting to show the strain. Strife liked that. He looked at his work with satisfaction, and leaned in to continue it. Kirin groaned, and the sound buzzed through Strife’s lips. Strife rolled his hips and Kirin urged him on.

He felt the first frond work its way out of his pants, touching its warm sticky leaves to Kirin’s stomach. He flinched, but Kirin didn’t seem to notice it, drawing Strife’s bottom lip into his mouth. He felt so good, so big and warm and easy, and Strife rubbed against him, pressing back against the thick line of his dick. He groaned at the firm pressure, his cilia tracing its outlines through the fabric as he slid against it. His pants shimmied down again, and he felt the joy of another frond touching skin that wasn’t his. God, there was a definite _slither_ as the frond dragged itself out of his pants, leaving a wet trail across Kirin’s skin. He couldn’t even bring himself to look down at the glowing stain. Strife tensed his stomach, trying to draw his knees closer together and lift himself up, but Kirin was too wide, and he burned from the strain. His ampullae prickled.

A crow cawed in the distance, barely on the edge of his hearing. He locked up, heart pounding. He couldn’t do this, he just _couldn’t_. The crow laughed at him with the echoes of locker room jeers and whispered jokes, and he just. His throat tightened, and the fronds coiled back up into tight knots, the leaves locking over the cilia to protect them. He pressed his forehead to Kirin’s shoulder in silent misery. He would just pick up his clothes and leave. He didn’t even need his equipment. Kirin could keep the jetpack, he was never coming back for it.

Strife drew in a breath to talk, but his throat hurt, and he knew his voice would crack if he tried. He let the breath out, straining to keep it even, and tried to take another. It felt like there was an iron band around his ribcage, a tight collar around his throat. He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to pull himself together enough to escape with even a little bit of dignity intact.

Kirin murmured, running a hand down his spine, and Strife hitched in a breath. He kept his face buried in Kirin’s shoulder. Kirin’s palm was broad and warm, without even a flicker of electricity, but Strife shivered. Kirin’s chest moved under him, deep and smooth as a bellows, and a choked gasp escaped Strife. He wasn’t going to - he _wasn’t_ \- he held his breath, his ribs shuddering. Strife stiffened when Kirin lifted his hand, tensing against the possibility that he would do more, but Kirin just smoothed his hair and continued down his back in another long slow stroke.

“It’s alright, my friend,” Kirin said. His voice was low and soft, and Strife bared his teeth at the blatant - the _obvious_ \- how _dare_ he - but Strife didn’t pull away. He stayed, breathing in the scent of his skin, keeping his face turned away from Kirin.

Strife slowly unwound, laying on Kirin, lulled by the soft strokes. His fingers ached when he unclenched his fists, and he felt Kirin’s chest fur against his fingertips. He could hear Kirin’s heartbeat through the ear pressed against his chest, hear him breathing steadily. The rumble in his chest when he talked was more soothing than the dangerous lying words.

“I won’t hurt you.”

Strife’s eyelashes brushed against Kirin’s skin. He was so warm, and Strife pressed closer as a breeze drifted across his back. Kirin smelled so good. Strife’s fronds tickled as they crept out of his pants uncertainly, reaching for Kirin’s bare skin. Kirin shifted under Strife slightly, and Strife made a small sound of distress.

“I understand.” Kirin’s hand didn’t change its slow strokes over his spine, the ampullae glowing dimly as it passed.

Kirin pushed between them, under Strife’s stomach. Strife could have stopped him. Could have said something. He bit his lip. The fronds stretched to meet Kirin, latching onto his fingertips, twining around him. They tugged, and Kirin’s hand slid into Strife’s pants, over the layers of overlapping leaves that stirred at the pressure. The fronds drew their prize in, and Kirin’s fingertips touched the wet moving cilia.

Strife breathed faster. Kirin’s skin was so close to his mouth, he could almost taste it. He shifted his hips, just a little. The fronds moved up Kirin’s hand, leaf by delicate leaf, but Kirin’s arm was trapped between them, too heavy for their traction. They burned with strain, their grip slipping. Strife shifted closer on top of Kirin, seeking. He pressed his mouth to Kirin’s skin, pressed his sheath to Kirin’s fingertips.

Kirin stroked him, and the cilia sucked against his fingers with growing interest. The delicate layers of the leaves warmed to his touch, uncovering more of the cilia. His fingers slid against Strife, slick and gentle. Strife gasped, rolling his hips, and the cilia drew them in with rippling waves of suction, exploring the calluses of his fingers. Strife shifted his hips to get him deeper. Kirin’s fingers moved against each other slowly, bending, one sliding in while the other slid out. It was a maddeningly light sensation, sending a tingling warmth through his sheath, and the cilia crowded closer in delight.

A shiver rolled up his spine, and Strife bit down on Kirin, running his tongue over the captured skin. He might leave a mark if he was lucky, if the storm sage didn’t just heal it away effortlessly. He rocked his hips against Kirin’s hand, pushing up on his arms for leverage and gasping at the new angle. He braced his hands on Kirin’s furry chest, panting. It was an awkward angle - there wasn’t much room for Kirin between his stomach, Strife’s thighs, and the fabric, and Kirin couldn’t unbend his other fingers no matter how the fronds pulled at them. Strife hissed in annoyance, resting his weight on Kirin as he tried to pull the entangling cloth away.

It was absurdly clumsy, and he whined when it took longer than he expected. He lost the rhythm, found it again, and lost it. He shimmied his pants down his knees with Kirin’s help, then they got tangled on his stupid boots and he bit Kirin in frustration. They pulled apart to deal with the offending clothing. Strife missed Kirin’s fingers instantly, but they were unlacing his boots. Kirin’s eyes were shining, and his hair was mussed. Strife didn’t know why, but he found himself laughing at the sheer ridiculousness of the whole thing, and Kirin laughed with him.

Strife kicked his pants off, and one boot definitely went through that wretched portal, but he didn’t care, he reached for Kirin instead of diving to rescue his property. Let the spiders steal it, he could make another.

He laid back against the grass, drawing Kirin down over him. Kirin settled on top of him, broad and heavy, but Strife didn’t mind the weight of him. Kirin tucked a hand around the back of Strife’s neck and pressed a kiss to his ear. Strife turned his head to give him more room, his mouth falling open at the feeling of Kirin’s warm palm on his ampullae. Kirin paused, then shifted his grip on the back of Strife’s neck, and a small sound escaped Strife. Strife twined his legs around Kirin’s thigh, pushing against him. Kirin slid his other hand under the small of Strife’s back, and Strife arched.

Strife knew Kirin was holding his breath. Knew because the muscles of his stomach were tense against him, knew because Kirin’s mouth was right next to his ear, and he couldn’t hear him breathing.

“Do you…” Kirin stopped. “If you turn around, I can put my mouth on the -” His thumb brushed an ampulla, and a flare of heat sizzled down Strife’s spine.

Strife swallowed hard. Kirin casually nuzzled his ear, waiting for an answer.

“Yes,” he said. “You - I want that.”

Kirin kissed his cheek. He was wrapped around Strife, and it took some effort to get his hands out from under him and prop himself up, and even more effort to untangle himself from Strife’s legs. Kirin brushed his lips across Strife’s, then drew back and Strife struggled to follow, pushing himself up on his hands.

Strife took a firm hold on the back of Kirin’s neck, pulling him back down for another kiss, and Kirin murmured into his mouth, sliding a hand under his ass, pulling him close. Strife wrapped his legs around Kirin, or as far around him as they would get, urging him closer.

Kirin kept a solid grip on Strife as he eased back to sit on his heels, pulling Strife onto his lap. They kissed, slow and sweet, and Strife lost track of where he began and ended in the warm, soft slide of lips and tingling electricity. He pushed deeper, or maybe Kirin did. Strife petted Kirin’s chest, and static fizzed under his hands. He was almost lulled into forgetting his plan, until he felt the smooth warmth of a palm running up his spine, shivers radiating through his ampullae. He broke away for air.

“Hurry up already,” he said hoarsely. “What’s keeping you?”

Kirin smiled and brushed a thumb across the back of Strife’s neck, but said nothing.

“Get a move on,” said Strife.

Kirin kissed Strife lightly, barely anything more than the taste of apples, and offered a hand. Strife used it to stand, putting his other hand on Kirin’s antlers. Someone could put an eye out with those things if they weren’t careful. He tipped Kirin’s head back, looking him up and down. The little red marks were still there on his neck and chest, and - _oh_. He was smeared with glowing streaks, from his thighs to his stomach. Strife swallowed hard, and didn’t look down at himself.

Strife turned his back to Kirin and knelt on the grass. There was a silent pause, and his shoulders tightened before he felt Kirin’s warmth moving in behind him, Kirin’s hands on his shoulders and mouth pressed to his hair. Kirin squeezed lightly, and trailed his lips down, and _oh god_ the warm wet touch of a tongue on his ampullae. Strife shoved a fist in his mouth. Kirin’s tongue was so soft, stroking against the glowing dots. He licked, broad and sloppy, then blew against the wet skin. Strife made a high, muffled noise, struggling to breathe regularly. Kirin laid a soft kiss on his ampullae, and Strife’s breath hitched. He bit down harder on his fist.

Kirin wrapped a hand around Strife’s wrist and tugged, and Strife took it out of his mouth. He felt Kirin shift behind him. Kirin pressed a kiss to the glowing bite marks, then bent his head back to Strife’s neck. Antlers gently brushed through Strife’s hair, and he leaned forwards, exposing the nape of his neck. He moaned when Kirin licked him, and made a ragged noise when Kirin closed his lips around an ampulla, tongue working against it.

Strife shifted, thighs rubbing together. His hand opened and closed in Kirin’s grip, but didn’t pull away. Kirin hummed against the back of his neck and Strife almost sobbed, rocking his hips in the empty air. He shut his eyes, but he could still see his own glow through his eyelids, burning in the darkness. With his eyes shut, Kirin felt closer, the susurrus of the forest around them louder, and the prickles of electricity down his spine stronger. He moaned as Kirin kissed up his neck.

He couldn’t stand it anymore. Strife put a hand between his legs, rubbing roughly against the fronds and pushing his fingers into his sheath. He moved back towards Kirin, but Kirin’s hand left his shoulder and caught him, steadying his hips. Kirin hummed against his neck and pressed a kiss against the next ampulla down. Strife pulled against Kirin’s grip on his wrist, and Kirin let him go.

Strife opened his eyes. “ _No.”_

Kirin froze.

“No, I wanted,” he said, frustrated. “No.” He pawed the air, found Kirin’s wrist and grabbed it, pulling it forwards. Strife fell forwards on his hands and knees, drawing Kirin down over him. Kirin tentatively placed his palms on the grass.

“Get with the program,” hissed Strife.

Kirin chuckled and settled in, and god, the touch of skin against his spine, he _blazed_ under it. Strife shifted, seeking friction on the ampullae, pushing back into Kirin. He felt Kirin’s dick on the curve of his ass, and pushed against that too. Kirin made a choked noise, so Strife did it again. Kirin was wet too.

Strife laughed, and it was suddenly so absurdly easy.

They wound up close to the portal, between the forgotten silk robe and the scattered armor pieces. Strife’s fingers dug into the grass as Kirin kissed the tender skin under his ear. He felt a petal brush his knuckles. The flowers - the portal - don’t break the _fuck it, he could find more_. Kirin curled over him, a warm shield between him and the Twilight Forest. Strife pushed back into him, sliding his knees apart and tilting his hips up. Kirin pressed in, nudging Strife’s knees further apart, rubbing back and forth against his sheath. Strife closed his eyes, his mouth falling open as he moved his hips to Kirin’s rhythm.

“You have… no idea, William,” Kirin breathed. “How… how _much_.” He traced Strife’s cheek with his fingertips.

Strife knew how much things were worth, but in this moment he would have traded them all. He turned, taking Kirin’s fingers between his lips, sucking. They tasted like apple. Kirin moaned, rocking Strife forward with a sharp thrust, and Strife braced his hands, pushing back. Kirin’s knees slid on the grass as he tried to line up. Strife’s fronds tugged at him, reeling him in, and his back arched. He slid a foot down Kirin’s leg, and tucked it over his ankle, tangling him closer.

Kirin’s antlers and horns loomed over him like the bars of a cage, but he didn’t want to push against them. He wanted - he tugged on one, bringing Kirin back to his neck. Kirin’s mouth was hot and wet, with the slightest touch of teeth, and Strife shivered hard, his skin tightening, a sizzling shock running down his spine. Light flared against his eyelids.

“L-lomadia?”

“Oh fuck, Nilesy, _move._ ”

The portal surged, and Strife looked up, dazed, but there was nobody there. Nobody but Kirin, who pressed a kiss to his temple and pulled his fingers out of his mouth. He kissed him, wet and slow and tasting of apples, and Strife relaxed.

Strife laid his head on the ground, pillowed by an arm, dizzy as Kirin’s hands slid over him. He slid his hand across the grass to feel it tickle against his palm as Kirin mapped the clusters of freckles, the glowing ampullae, the star map of his skin. He closed his eyes again, letting the feeling roll over him as Kirin’s chest moved against his back, and his hips rocked against him. There was a low crackle of static electricity from the furry patch on Kirin’s chest, the fur that ran all the way down between his legs. Strife murmured at the tingle of it. The fronds wrapped around Kirin’s dick, pulling tight when he moved away and squeezing gently when he rocked forwards. The cilia pulsed, sucking at his skin as it passed back and forth. This was good. But. He missed Kirin’s fingers.

Strife shifted against Kirin, trying to find the tip of his dick and reel it in. Kirin made a noise, slowing down, and Strife frowned, trying another angle. He couldn’t - what, was it _sideways?_ He pushed back against the blunt pressure, his cilia rippling. Oh. _Oh_. He licked his lips, brought a hand back, and - it hadn’t looked that thick in proportion to Kirin. Kirin held still, breathing heavily and shuddering with unspent tension.

The tip of Kirin’s dick pressed against Strife’s sheath where he was wet and open. He pushed back experimentally, and gasped at the sensation. It was tight, almost aching, the cilia flickering against it and pulling back, hypersensitive. Kirin tucked his head against Strife’s shoulder, breathing roughly, but didn’t move his hips. Strife bit his lip, working against it, sheath throbbing as it stretched tight. He clenched his jaw against the strange feeling, and Kirin’s hand rubbed soothing circles into his stomach.

“If it - if you don’t -” Kirin’s hand was smooth, but his voice was strained. “I - too much?”

“You - think I can’t -” Strife gasped, burying his face in his arm before regaining his train of thought and coming back up for air. “Can’t - can’t tell me what to _do_ . You _don’t.”_ It wasn’t fast enough, and jittery energy coiled through his stomach. He pushed back again and hissed. Too fast. He huffed out shocked little breaths at the sting of it, and ducked away from Kirin’s kiss.

His lights were achingly bright, his stomach muscles clenched tight under Kirin’s hand, and Kirin was already so deep inside him without even pushing, just holding still and letting Strife move. It felt like there was no room left inside Strife for air. Strife trembled. He was stretched so tight he could feel his pulse beating. Or maybe that was Kirin’s pulse. It was almost too sensitive to move, and he winced as he pulled Kirin deeper. Too much. He gasped, his fronds letting go, and pulled away a bit. He shuddered at the slick slide through him, and his fronds snagged on Kirin’s skin again, pulling tight. He reeled Kirin in until he couldn’t bear it anymore, and pulled away again until his fronds clamped down.

Kirin smoothed a hand over his hair. “What does it feel like?” he said, voice thick and quiet. The cilia pulsed, pulling at Kirin even though Strife could barely stand it, and Strife pushed back again, making a tight noise in his throat.

Kirin made a concerned sound and nuzzled his ear.

“Feels f-fine,” hissed Strife. “You think I don’t know how my - my own.” He pushed into Kirin roughly and winced, baring his teeth. He wanted more friction, but oh god, it was like getting hit with a lightning bolt. He whined under his breath.

“Of course,” said Kirin. He pressed a soft kiss to the ampullae, and Strife sighed, face smoothing out, and slid back just a little. Kirin nuzzled his ear, his breath warm, and Strife tried to breathe. He felt flickers of static electricity from the chest fur as he slid just a little. His legs shook, and Kirin held him steady with a hand under his hip. Finally, Strife’s ass settled against Kirin’s hips, and he let out a deep breath, glowing brightly, head resting on his folded arms.

Kirin made an inquisitive rumble, and Strife nodded, not raising his head. Kirin pulled out just a little, and pressed back in. Strife shuddered at the intensity of the sensation, fronds working open and shut. A ripple of the cilia and an aching glow as Kirin did it again. Strife felt Kirin’s dick shift inside of him as his hips tilted, and gasped, raising his flushed face from his arms.

“Too much?” murmured Kirin.

“More,” said Strife, but his back tightened when Kirin moved again.

“I thought so.”

He braced himself as Kirin shifted his weight, but wasn’t prepared for the slide of skin against his leaves. Kirin’s hand cupped him gently until the warmth coaxed the fronds open. His fingers stroked the cilia, feather light, tracing around where they met, and the fronds twined around his fingers.

Strife sighed at the feeling of it, his shoulders slumping as he rested his cheek on his arms. His stomach muscles felt sore, aching as they slowly unwound. He hummed, and Kirin’s hand kept moving, the leaves shivering as it passed over them. Strife listened to the slide of skin against skin, and his sheath loosened by degrees, like a vise twisting open. He moved his hips, just a little.

Kirin pulled his hand away and Strife made an unhappy noise, trying to pull him back. Kirin shushed him, twisting his hand to unstick the clinging fronds. Strife cracked an eye open, taking a breath to protest. Oh god, his fingers were wet and glowing and - Strife bit his lip as Kirin licked his fingers. He opened his eyes further. Kirin’s gaze was heavy on him, and Strife burned green at the slick sounds of his mouth. He slipped his fingers into his mouth and Strife made a small noise, lips parting. Kirin’s lips were glowing faintly when he took his hand away. It was a good look on him.

He slid his hand under Strife, and Strife sighed at the slippery glide of his fingers against the leaves. Kirin stroked his wet fingertips along the spine of a frond, tugged a leaf gently. Strife wet his lips, clenching around Kirin, then twisted his mouth at the ache. Kirin kissed his ear and held Strife by the hip, easing back onto his heels. Strife’s knees left the grass as Kirin put a hand on his chest, pulling him into his lap and sitting up.

Strife’s legs were spread wide, and he leaned back against Kirin’s warm furry chest, flush against his bare skin. Kirin petted him from stomach to throat, and he tipped his head back, murmuring. He listened to Kirin’s heavy heartbeat as Kirin stroked between his legs, and shifted in his lap. Kirin took his hand away again and Strife caught it, bringing it to his mouth. He sucked on Kirin’s fingers, tasting himself. Kirin gasped, and Strife pushed his tongue between Kirin’s fingers. He followed when Kirin drew them away, leaning forwards, until they pulled out of his mouth with a wet pop. Kirin’s hand went between his legs again and Strife squirmed, holding onto a horn for leverage as he rolled his hips into the sensation. He tossed his head, panting, as the sting faded and his cilia pulsed, eager for more friction. He didn’t have the leverage he wanted, and he whined under his breath, rocking his hips harder.

Kirin put him back on his hands and knees, and Strife rocked against him, palms skidding on the cool grass. Kirin laughed, and pressed Strife down gently until his chest touched the grass. His hand came between Strife’s legs again and Strife settled, pillowing his head on his arms. Kirin moved slowly and gently, hands skimming across Strife the whole time - the curve of his stomach, the long smooth lines of his thighs, the tender skin of his chest that the exoskeleton usually covered. He was warm in contrast to the grass and the air, and his dick moved smoothly inside Strife. Strife breathed in time to the strokes, aware of how fragile his ribcage seemed against Kirin’s large hand, but his touch was so light, his voice so soft in Strife’s ear.

“Beautiful, just -” Kirin’s voice tightened.

Strife whined and twisted, and suddenly couldn’t take it anymore, couldn’t _breathe_. Something inside his chest pulled tight, and he scrambled to get his arms under him, shoving back against Kirin, gasping at the wet slide of his cilia. Kirin let him up, and he rocked forwards, then back again, hammering Kirin into him like a nail. His breath hissed between his teeth, and Kirin caught his hips as he moved to do it again.

“Easy,” said Kirin. “I didn’t mean - you’re safe.” He pressed into Strife, slow and gentle, as if there was something in there that could be broken.

Strife made a choked noise. “I want -” His throat closed.

“Yes,” said Kirin.

Kirin rubbed a hand over his hair, and pressed his face to the back of his neck, rocking into him gently. Strife shuddered and nodded. Kirin slid a hand up his ribs, across his chest, taking a grip on his shoulder and pulling Strife tighter against him as his hips moved into him. Strife bit his lip, twisting against his hold for leverage, pressing back against him. Kirin was heavy on top of him, rocking Strife forward with every thrust. Strife made a noise deep in his throat, bracing his arms and pushing back to meet him. His palms slipped on the grass, and he dug his fingers in. Kirin put a hand on top of his, interlacing his fingers with Strife’s.

He let go of Strife’s shoulder to trace the line of his jaw, and Strife turned his head, seeking. He took a finger between his lips. A look of soft wonder crossed Kirin’s face. He kissed Strife’s ear, his lips as soft as velvet.

“I hoped,” he breathed, watching Strife’s face. “Just like this.” Kirin was starting to tremble, static flickering in the corner of Strife’s eyes, stinging his ampullae.

Strife hadn’t even been keeping track, floating in the overwhelming tide of sensation, but something inside him was winding tighter, coiling in his stomach. He gripped Kirin’s wrist, squeezing in warning, and pushed back harder.

Kirin rocked into him faster, and Strife could barely hear the slap of skin over Kirin’s ragged breathing, over the gasps and moans they were both making every time they slid together. Kirin’s fingers tightened over Strife’s hand, and Strife nearly slipped, lifting his hand to get a better grip on Kirin, locking him into place. The grass tore under them. He moved his lips against Kirin’s finger, then Kirin hit a good spot inside him and he twisted his face away, gasping.

“I want -” said Strife. “Now. Come on, just -” His voice hitched.

“Get with the program,” Kirin panted, “I know.”

And he did, he knew Strife so well, knew exactly how to kiss his ampullae, how to touch his sheath, and Strife shivered under him, shivered around him, fronds drawing tight, cilia pulsing. The rush lit him up from head to toe, shaking through him like thunder against a stained glass window, and he buzzed with the sensation, lost in it. His mouth was open, and he didn’t care if anyone could hear him.

When he came back to himself, he was warm. His body thrummed with contentment, relaxed and luxuriously heavy. He was curled up on the grass on his side with a somewhat sticky silk robe draped over him. Kirin was spooned behind him, one arm under Strife’s head, and the other arm warm and loose over him. His chest moved slow and steady against Strife’s back. Moving took a heroic effort, but Strife managed to draw an exposed foot under the robe and pull Kirin’s arm tighter over him. Just for a while.

“You could stay,” breathed Kirin. “As long as you want.” He nuzzled Strife’s hair, kissed the back of his neck. The ampullae flickered with a dim echo.

“What’s in it for you?” said Strife quietly, prickling back to awareness. He’d already gotten what he wanted, hadn’t he? Did he want another round? He blinked slowly, looking around the clearing. Were those his pants or Kirin’s?

“I want to keep you,” murmured Kirin, soft and half asleep.

Strife’s eyes snapped open. Kirin felt him tense up, and mumbled something, drawing him back against his chest. Strife carefully lifted Kirin’s arm, trying to move gently to not disturb him, but the silk robe slid across Kirin’s skin as Strife pulled away. Strife winced. Kirin’s eyes were half open, idly tracking Strife as he moved around the clearing. Those were definitely his pants. He hopped into them, grimacing at the dampness. He could only find one boot, so he abandoned it, padding around barefoot, the grass cool under the soles of his feet.

He bundled the shirt and vest up. At least one sleeve was inside out, and he didn’t have the time to deal with it. He put his armor on over bare skin, shivering at the touch of cold metal, and swung the jetpack up onto his back, staggering under the weight of it. Strife was careful to make as little noise as possible, but Kirin was starting to look more alert. Strife put the portal between them.

He paused at the lip of the portal, looking in to the swirling light. It was still intact. He looked at Kirin, who had his head propped up on a palm and was watching him but making no move to stop him. His skin was - the silk robe was barely - Strife looked away, rubbing his mouth. He dug in his pocket, and pulled out a diamond. He flipped it to Kirin neatly, and it landed next to him, glinting in the light.

“For the rabbit,” said Strife, his voice rough. “We’re square.”

“Yes,” said Kirin softly. “You owe me nothing.” His hand didn’t move to cover the diamond.

Strife nodded stiffly and stepped through the ring of flowers.

It had been the witches’ portal after all. He came out in that sandy little ditch right next to one of their small, irregular ponds. The windows of the cottage glowed through the gaps in the fence and the plants. The wind was louder here, it would cover the sound of his footsteps. He moved carefully in the darkness - he didn’t want to step on anything and cut himself. God knows what witches let grow in their gardens. It couldn’t be good, not after the wither skeleton skulls Lomadia had asked him for. There were Twilight Forest fireflies on the trees. They must have escaped through the portal. He would blend in, at least.

He put more trees between him and the house, flinching as that awful hanging moss trailed over his neck. His toes collided with something hard, and he nearly tripped.

He looked down. There was a pile of garbage at his feet - plant cuttings and bottles and a broom. Horror coiled through his gut as - yes, he could hear them arguing about something as they walked towards him. He heard the swing of a garden gate and froze.

“ - the right one this time, I think. Flying ointment, right?”

“Honestly, Nilesy, you’d think you’d know it by now, we’ve done it often enough.”

Strife wished, fiercely, that the house would burst into flames.

“Well, I’m just lucky I have you, Lomadia. You’re smart at witchery.”

“Flattery gets you nowhere. Don’t step on the mushroom there.”

A hand moved the veil of spanish moss and Strife’s heart leapt into his mouth.

Lomadia looked him up and down. Barefoot, hair a mess, freckles brighter than they should have been, pants wet and _glowing oh god_ , holding a bundle of clothes.

“Hello, Strife.”

“Lomadia,” he said weakly.

Nilesy ran into her from behind. “Sorry, Lom, I - oh! Strife!” He blushed. “We, uh, we have your -”

Lomadia elbowed him in the ribs and he snapped his mouth shut.

“I was… just looking for a clearing,” said Strife. He held his bundle of clothes tighter.

“You can take off from the garden,” said Lomadia, accepting the lie without a blink. They both knew where he usually took off from, and it wasn’t the dense canopy of the summoning circle.

She didn’t add anything else, and Strife was pathetically grateful. He nodded, businesslike.

“Got time for a cup of tea before you leave?” Her voice was sensible and not too gentle.

Niley squared his shoulders, relaxing at the familiar script. “We’ve got apple pie,” he said, almost looking Strife in the eye.

He could stay. Drink their tea, eat their apples. Talk to the witches. Hand over the wilting flowers in his pack so Lomadia could replant them. The wind was cold and the cottage was inviting, and he nearly broke.

But he had no way to pay for their hospitality. He hadn’t even returned the pie plate Lomadia had loaned him last time, let alone brought the replacement sprinkler parts he had promised. He didn’t want to owe them more than he already did, didn’t want them to resent him and regret their squandered generosity. He didn’t take the apple. He knew there was a worm in it.

“I can take it from here,” said Strife firmly. “I’m fine.”

It was safer that way.

  
  


 

**Author's Note:**

> [Now with bonus DVD commentary track by me and Lucy.](https://docs.google.com/document/d/1CDdhoYJ0xP91WPyiZcreXIgkakYTzHxmTWwIpo9wwuM/edit?usp=sharing)


End file.
